Songs from the Wood
When Reynard strolled into town no one seemed surprised, he was always a chancer. He hung around the chippy waiting for his next meal wrapped in yesterday’s news.
A chorus broke the dawn with mournful airs whilst squirrels squabbled over peanuts. I watched him snatch mouthfuls of water from next door’s pond. I would’ve blamed him for the missing fish had not yesterday a heron emptied it.
The paperboy startled him and off he shot behind the shed.
Suddenly, all was still, except for the lament of distant traffic. I snatched the headlines: DEER STALKERS – an errant doe had suckled her fawn outside the police station.
Then, I saw them, a great cloud of mixed fowl descending on the skyscrapers in a cacophony of feathers, their voices cried heavenward in funereal unison.
I drove to the country, parting the tide of exiles: rabbits; shrews; and, mice - all city-bound. And there in a valley, again I heard that lament as the wind moaned over holes where trees had once rooted. A forest of pine transfigured into newspapers.
Yesterday’s news.